The Scarlet Letter eBook

“Nay, I think not so,” rejoined the Reverend
Mr. Dimmesdale. “My journey, and the sight
of the holy Apostle yonder, and the free air which
I have breathed have done me good, after so long confinement
in my study. I think to need no more of your
drugs, my kind physician, good though they be, and
administered by a friendly hand.”

All this time Roger Chillingworth was looking at the
minister with the grave and intent regard of a physician
towards his patient. But, in spite of this outward
show, the latter was almost convinced of the old man’s
knowledge, or, at least, his confident suspicion,
with respect to his own interview with Hester Prynne.
The physician knew then that in the minister’s
regard he was no longer a trusted friend, but his bitterest
enemy. So much being known, it would appear natural
that a part of it should be expressed. It is
singular, however, how long a time often passes before
words embody things; and with what security two persons,
who choose to avoid a certain subject, may approach
its very verge, and retire without disturbing it.
Thus the minister felt no apprehension that Roger
Chillingworth would touch, in express words, upon
the real position which they sustained towards one
another. Yet did the physician, in his dark
way, creep frightfully near the secret.

“Were it not better,” said he, “that
you use my poor skill tonight? Verily, dear
sir, we must take pains to make you strong and vigorous
for this occasion of the Election discourse.
The people look for great things from you, apprehending
that another year may come about and find their pastor
gone.”

“Yes, to another world,” replied the minister
with pious resignation. “Heaven grant
it be a better one; for, in good sooth, I hardly think
to tarry with my flock through the flitting seasons
of another year! But touching your medicine,
kind sir, in my present frame of body I need it not.”

“I joy to hear it,” answered the physician.
“It may be that my remedies, so long administered
in vain, begin now to take due effect. Happy
man were I, and well deserving of New England’s
gratitude, could I achieve this cure!”

“I thank you from my heart, most watchful friend,”
said the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale with a solemn smile.
“I thank you, and can but requite your good
deeds with my prayers.”

“A good man’s prayers are golden recompense!”
rejoined old Roger Chillingworth, as he took his leave.
“Yea, they are the current gold coin of the
New Jerusalem, with the King’s own mint mark
on them!”

Left alone, the minister summoned a servant of the
house, and requested food, which, being set before
him, he ate with ravenous appetite. Then flinging
the already written pages of the Election Sermon into
the fire, he forthwith began another, which he wrote
with such an impulsive flow of thought and emotion,
that he fancied himself inspired; and only wondered
that Heaven should see fit to transmit the grand and
solemn music of its oracles through so foul an organ
pipe as he. However, leaving that mystery to
solve itself, or go unsolved for ever, he drove his
task onward with earnest haste and ecstasy.